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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161711">better than misery</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/decayed/pseuds/decayed'>decayed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Eye Licking, Face Slapping, Fear, Humiliation, Licking, M/M, Office Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:27:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/decayed/pseuds/decayed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>jon's angry at elias. elias is happy to see him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>better than misery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>heed the tags.</p><p>no anatomy specified for jon so imagine what you will.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon is wearing two oversized sweaters on top of each other, coupled with a pair of baggy sweatpants, hands fisted in the pockets. He must be wearing boots as well; Elias can’t quite see from his position behind his desk, but there’s certainly a very loud echo from his footfalls as he stomps into the room.</p><p>His hair is tangled and messy, lank as it dangles around his shoulders. Filthy, probably. It’s kept behind his ears, though, where Elias Knows he nervously tucked it before barging into his office. Quite the endearing habit, and oh, what does it say about Jon’s feelings towards him that he still performs the gesture before so rudely storming into the room? </p><p>The rest of his face is a glorious mess. Stubble has overgrown and overtaken his face, and Elias is entranced by the dark shadows of it outlining his jaw. His glasses are slightly askew, helplessly crooked and one of the lenses appears to be sporting a hairline fracture, just beginning to crack. Jon’s eyes are furious, bright and lively and livid, yet contrasted wonderfully by the dark shadows under his eyes; when was the last time his archivist slept? It doesn’t look like he has gotten a good night’s sleep since beginning his position as archivist at Elias’ institute. </p><p>Jon is rumpled and gross and disgusting and Elias has never seen anyone more beautiful.</p><p>The Marks especially are stunning, breathtaking, impossibly lurid to Elias' trained eye where they are engraved into Jon’s flesh. There’s the corruption, taking the form of pockmark holes that dot his skin. There’s the hunt scrawled messily across his neck, the most undeniable mark of them all, the scar thick and painful looking. There’s the desolation too, scalded deep into his hand, visible as he runs his fingers through the tangled chaos of his hair.</p><p>But what could be more noticeable, more defining than the eye, all around him, within him, guiding him and destroying him and ruining him, transforming him into a perfect being? Elias is spellbound by him, hopelessly infatuated, carried away as he observes his archivist’s growth. Jon has been through hell and came out the other side and now he has returned to Elias at last.</p><p>“I can't fucking believe you,” his archivist spits out when he speaks at last, mouth twisted into a savage and inhuman grimace. Elias finds it endearing. His perfect Jon, returned to him at last. He deserves a reward for his good work, an indulgence, surely. Oh, how he will reward his archivist. Perhaps he’ll pull some ideas from Jon’s own head, will make Jon’s desperate, vague fantasies into a reality.</p><p>Elias doesn’t trust himself to speak, to respond, so he just leans back in his chair and watches. He admires Jon’s ferocity and anger and fear. He does not balk at Elias’ lack of response. It only seems to encourage him as he goes closer, leans on to the desk now and slams a fist down into a pile of papers. How wild, how unrestrained, and how lucky Elias is to be able to bask in his glory.</p><p>"First you framed me for murder and then, and then, all this!" Jon sputters out the words helplessly, gesturing frantically about the room, as if to indicate what he cannot express. His arms wave wildly. He is a force of nature, a chaotic manifestation of the Eye’s power, already learning so quickly and so well. Perhaps he is referring to the intuitive, the dread powers, Gertrude’s murder, any number of deeds Elias is no doubt responsible for.</p><p>Elias can afford to cherish this, to enjoy everything about it. His posture is still loose and languid when he relaxes further into his chair, raising his eyebrows and extending his lip in a pout to create an expression of mock innocence. His response is careful, but with just the right amount of smooth smugness coupled with indulgence that Jon won't be able to resist. Jon was never any good at resisting him, Elias Knows.</p><p>"So the murder part wasn't the final straw then, hm?" </p><p>Watching the colour rise to Jon's face is splendid. It's fascinating to Elias, despite the knowledge that such a response had a chance to be elicited from his rather cheeky reply. He watches like it's a particularly interesting museum exhibit, admiring the display. Savouring it, taking a mental snapshot, enjoying the flush as it fully manifests on to Jon’s cheeks, making no move to recede.</p><p>"You're a right bastard, Elias.” Jon leans even further on the desk in an attempt to establish eye contact. Jon's voice is low and dangerous. Elias rather likes it that way, prefers it even. He meets Jon’s eyes evenly, keeps his face smug and amused coupled with a tiny trademark grin.</p><p>As much as Elias immensely enjoys indulging his archivist, he does have to reign him in when he's gone too far. He could probably sit here all day and enjoy being insulted and threatened by Jon, but he has more pressing matters to attend to and Jon still has so much to learn. The reward, though, he’ll make good on it. Jon deserves some close attention, especially after all he’s been through.</p><p>"Is that so?" Elias says smoothly, couples the words with rising from his chair, stalking towards Jon like a predator and abruptly rounding on him. He watches as Jon frantically turns himself around, desperate to continue facing Elias but ends up unfortunately cornered against the desk.  Jon has nowhere to run, his back pressed against the desk, hands gripping at its edge like a lifeline, not daring to so much as touch Elias even when he's moved far too close to Jon. He's well into Jon's personal space and enjoying it immensely. </p><p>Jon is trapped and knows it. The animal emotion, the pure primal fear rises in his eyes, and it is so incredibly delicious Elias has to resist the urge to devour him whole. Jon is flushed and filthy, messy and delectable and Elias Knows what he’s thinking, what he wants. This is exactly how Jon always imagined it.</p><p>So Elias slaps him hard across the face. The sound of the slap echoes loudly in the cramped office, in the mere inches between them where Elias has established himself firmly against Jon, bodies close but not yet touching. Jon is stunned and just a little disoriented, gasping desperately for air. Elias knows what will get him back on track.</p><p>“You <i>want</i> me to touch you. You <i>get off</i> on it,” Elias tells him casually, sliding his hands under Jon’s clothes to paw at his skin. He enunciates each word clearly and precisely, in a smug, knowing manner that he Knows will get under Jon’s skin. Interestingly enough, Jon doesn’t move to stop him, red-faced and wanting as he is, gripping hard on the edge of the desk behind him. The mark of Elias’ slap stands out, achingly red against the backdrop of his flush. It makes Elias want to mark him again, this time more permanently, more uniquely.</p><p>“No, no, no, I don’t, I don’t,” Jon begins to say, but he’s gasping a tad too desperately to be able to fully form the words, especially when Elias starts to use his nails, rakes them down Jon’s chest. He’s sputtering something, half-formed words and complaints that never make it out of his mouth. Truly a mess now, but that’s quite alright; he’s in Elias’ capable hands, after all.</p><p>“You like it. Something straight out of a sexual harassment seminar. You’ve fantasized about it, being groped by me. By your boss. My hands on your skin.” Elias’ hands tear into Jon’s flesh, nails sinking in just the way he Knows Jon always imagined it, always desired in the deepest fantasies he harboured about Elias. Why would Elias not Know?</p><p>“Fuck off, go away, fuck you,” Jon spits out, but there’s no fire in the words. All the fervor he had earlier, the righteous fury he took with him into Elias’ office; it’s all vanished, extinguished by Elias’ proximity to him, Elias playing out Jon’s own fantasies to him in real time.</p><p>“How disgusting,” he whispers into Jon’s neck, and he’s close enough now to feel Jon tremble beneath him.</p><p>“A pervert. Pining after your own boss. How would your assistants feel if they found out?” he murmurs as he unwraps Jon, forces off his two sweaters along with the t-shirt underneath. Jon is relatively compliant even as he makes a noise of discontent, allows Elias to maneuver his arms and manhandle him into position. </p><p>Jon is so incredibly beautiful like this. Trembling, impossibly skinny, nearly emaciated- how little does he care for himself? His ribs protrude, chest heaving, the cruel markings from the worms pronounced against his skin. Oh, how Elias wishes to worship him. He is simply divine, a monument to Elias’ success. </p><p>He leans in deeper, nuzzling against Jon’s cheek. The roughness of his stubble, his unshaven face, provides a pleasant burn to Elias’ skin. He’s warm to Elias’ touch, intoxicatingly so. Elias can’t resist any of his urges, not with Jon this close, putty in his hands. His tongue snakes out of his mouth, licking at Jon’s skin, desperately to taste him. He tastes like sweat and salt, and Elias can feel how he shakes as he licks at Jon’s neck and up his face at his cheeks.  His skin is impossibly hot, almost feverish, and incredibly soft. Jon stays perfectly still, frozen in place. Such a good puppet for Elias, as always. Ever the compliant doll.</p><p>When he retreats to look at him, he sees that Jon’s face is flushed, and his eyes dart away from Elias’ own, unable to fixate on him or perhaps simply unwilling. Elias likes his eyes. They’re green, far darker than Elias’ own. A deep olive green, the ring of colour barely visible due to Jon’s blown out pupils, eyes wide, confused and scared and wanting all at once.</p><p>He’s not sure where the urge comes from, but he leans closer still. He wants to taste him, but this time in a far more intimate way. He needs more. Jon’s glasses are in the way, so he takes them and gently sets them down on the desk he has Jon pinned against. His mouth hovers just above Jon’s eye, savouring the moment of anticipation, the feeling of Jon’s body pressed against him, the fear and expectancy radiating off his archivist.</p><p>His tongue extends slowly, and he feels Jon’s entire body freeze beneath him where they’re pressed together so harshly. Delicately and oh so carefully, he licks Jon’s eyeball, tongue as gentle as can be. It feels far more intimate than a kiss. The way Jon’s eye yields so easily to Elias’ tongue, the feeling of it giving when he applies the lightest pressure imaginable, a feather light lick, lapping like a kitten at the sensitive membrane. It tastes better than he could have hoped for, and when he finishes he licks his own lips, savouring the flavour.</p><p>Jon looks utterly bewildered, mouth moving but no words coming out. Dumbfounded and blessedly silent, out of harsh rebuttals and remarks for once. Elias decides to kiss him. Jon isn’t particularly fond of kissing, he knows, doesn’t often fantasize about it when he thinks of Elias, of things he wants Elias to do to him. It’s too good an opportunity to miss, though, a way to claim  him completely. More than anything, Jon wants to please Elias, so surely he will allow this indulgence. He begins to grope him again as he forces Jon’s mouth open beneath him, hands grabbing and squeezing and caressing as he pleases.</p><p>“Elias, Elias, please.” Jon is desperate for him now. His grasp is failing, weak and loose as he mewls like a kitten. He can’t even begin to articulate himself properly, Elias Knows, not with the way he’s being touched so perfectly, stroked and caressed with Elias’ gentle hands and clever fingers.</p><p>Jon’s unwillingness to so much as touch Elias has abated entirely, and he’s begun desperately grasping at Elias’ expensive clothing. His hands are tangled in Elias’ suit jacket, rough as they pull at the fabric, movements janky and uncontrolled, but curiously corresponding to the movement of Elias’ hands as they move across his skin. He’s pressing himself against Elias eagerly now.</p><p>What a sight they must make together. Does the ceaseless watcher see? Does it savour the sight of its two most faithful servants, locked in an embrace such as this? Elias hopes it proves for a sufficient offering, a sight worth seeing. He’s certainly enjoying it for all it’s worth.</p><p>Elias’ large body is covering Jon’s smaller one, all broad shoulders and muscular limbs and worshipping hands, finding all of Jon’s secret spots and touching him, raking his nails along Jon’s flesh because he Knows Jon wants it. Oh, how lovely Jon must look, his archivist, wiry and small and messy, far too skinny in his baggy clothes, tired and desperate and wanting, needing so badly to be touched. Elias’ leg is slotted firmly between Jon’s, and Jon is grinding and humping and debasing himself for Elias, desperate for the delicious friction that Elias is giving him. Elias for the most part is quite busy, utterly fascinated with the responses he elicits from his archivist.</p><p>Jon is more than a handful but Elias is handling him well. With his upper body exposed, heavy sweaters carelessly tossed to the floor, Elias has full access to Jon’s chest. He holds Jon to him with one hand, making sure to push Jon down hard against the leg he has between Jon’s thighs,  so his dear desperate archivist has to fight against it to get Elias’ body where he wants it, until he’s sweating and breathing hard from the effort of it all. Elias focuses his other hand on touching, sliding his way across Jon’s chest. He rubs at the bones that are just beneath the skin, scratching and clawing at the outline of Jon’s ribs. He fixes his mouth firmly to Jon’s neck, licking at the flesh there but also stopping to suck and nip at his collarbone. He likes feeling Jon’s bones beneath him, pressing into them too hard and biting at them just to feel the way Jon shudders and gasps. </p><p>Jon’s own hands are entangled in Elias’ clothing, clutching with no rhyme or reason against Elias’ very neat suit jacket. It’s an attempt to pull him nearer, but Jon is not nearly strong enough to get him to budge, and so he’s stuck and pinned with the desk at his back and Elias’ body in the front, using Elias to get off. It’s a desperate, frantic dance that they are performing together, Elias intending to maximize Jon’s pleasure.</p><p>He is Elias’ captive, after all; his archivist, his helpless doll. Jon is superb, a fantastical, mystical being now, a true manifestation of Elias’ success. His body, his mind; everything is Elias’ for the taking, to mold and to shape and to impart whatever knowledge he wants. Jon is a vessel in which his greatest desires will be achieved. It’s so easy and so gratifying to elicit these responses from him</p><p>Jon tries to disguise it when he finally comes, but it’s incredibly obvious to Elias. He gives a harsh, desperate groan and goes almost entirely limp in Elias’ arms, all the fight drained out of him. Elias finds himself cradling Jon to his chest, and he feels Jon begin to shake ever so slightly.</p><p>“How easy, “ Elias murmurs to him. He makes sure he sounds bored. Detached. It wouldn’t do to get him too used to this treatment, after all. Jon’s face is pressed against Elias’ chest, and he’s still shuddering in the aftershocks. Desperate whines emit from him slowly, muffled by where he keeps mouthing against Elias’ expensive dress shirt, the fabric rendered hopelessly damp. Elias can feel the sticky moisture where it seeps through, can feel the gentle wetness on his skin.</p><p>“How predictable.” Elias begins threading a hand through Jon’s hair, carelessly stroking the tangled strands. His other hand rubs Jon’s back, keeping his archivist pressed into him. His motions are gentle but the words he says are cruel. He can’t afford to be too kind, can’t allow Jon to get soft when he still has so much work to do. Elias is keenly reminded that he has not won, not yet.</p><p>“Was it as good as you imagined?” Elias does not expect a response to his question. It doesn’t matter. He already Knows the answer, anyway. Ever so gently he prompts Jon’s head to move upwards, cupping his chin ever so slightly so he meets Elias’ eyes.</p><p>It’s easy to make Jon comply, to prompt him to face Elias. His face is quite a sight to behold, and Elias savours it. Jon’s eyes are fraught with tears, red-rimmed and glorious, his misty-eyed little archivist. Spittle dribbles messily from his mouth, lips quivering still. </p><p>“Probably not.”</p><p>Jon looks away at this, hands trembling considerably even as they push into Elias’ chest, as if making to free himself from Elias’ embrace. </p><p>“Can’t expect to match up to all your wild imaginings of me, Jon. You would have preferred I fucked you on my desk. Is that what you were waiting for?” </p><p>“G-get, get off.” Jon’s voice is weak as he slurs out the words. His hands slowly form into fists, banging ineffectively against Elias’ chest. Elias simply leers down at Jon, rather amused by his little tantrum. Are tendrils of regret beginning to creep in already?</p><p>“Get off of me. Fuck off!”</p><p>Elias remains exactly where he is despite Jon’s objections. Fatigue combined with the aftershocks of what Elias was sure proved to be an overwhelmingly satisfying orgasm renders Jon weak. He is still leaning so heavily on Elias, as much as he protests against it.</p><p>“Are you so sure about that, Jon?” Elias asks him, a predatory grin on his lips, eyes gleaming as he stares Jon down. “I know exactly what you want, and that simply is not it.” </p><p>Jon still keeps struggling, refusing to meet Elias’ eyes as he tries desperately to get away. He’s trapped, though, and has to realize it, as Elias has effectively caged him against the desk that must be digging rather unpleasantly into his back now.</p><p>“Besides,” Elias continues as Jon gradually halts his protests, instead glares at him with hazy eyes, hands pressed firmly against Elias’ chest. “You got me all worked up. You better finish what you started.” His voice is just forceful enough to make Jon realize he doesn’t exactly have a say in a matter, to frighten him just a bit so he tenses up against Elias.</p><p>It’s easy to undress Jon when he’s in this state, to help him slip out of his pants and to lift him up so he can perch on Elias’ desk. It’s a wonderful sight. Elias palms himself through his pants, licking his lips as he looks him up and down. He encroaches on Jon slowly. There’s no rush. He’s not going anywhere. He’s stuck sitting up on Elias’ desk, and Elias is between him and the door.</p><p>Jon shudders when Elias touches him, and Elias marvels yet again at how responsive his archivist’s body is to his touch. He opens Jon up slowly, spreads the fluids from his earlier release to finger him properly.</p><p>“You like this, don’t you, being all mine?  All on display, just for me.” Jon doesn’t exactly say anything in response to Elias’ words, but he’s gasping as Elias touches him, whining, desperate for more.</p><p>“You’re so silly, Jon. Surely there was an easier way to receive a favourable performance review from me, but I won’t complain.” The words keep tumbling out of Elias’ mouth, words he knows Jon wants to hear, a perfect replication of his fantasies. Jon likes his voice, more than he’d ever admit to Elias’ face. It’s only fair he gives his archivist what he wants. He doesn’t stop touching him as he speaks, glides his hands easily down Jon’s body, squeezing and groping and digging his nails in. He nips at Jon’s ears, at his neck, puts his mouth to work whenever he isn’t speaking directly into Jon’s ear.</p><p>“This is the only attention a filthy slut like you wants from me, isn’t it? You’re such a foolish little boy. So clumsy in your affections for me, so eager to entice me but so terrible at it. You’re just a dirty little pervert, wanting your boss’ dick so badly.” Jon is whining against, struggling against him but too weak to do anything as Elias fingers him open easily, the other hand put to work scratching against any available flesh it can reach.</p><p>“You’re so gross.” Elias’ breath ghosts against his neck. He licks up Jon’s cheek before kissing him with too much tongue. He invades Jon’s mouth, merciless as he consumes his archivist, envelops him.</p><p>“Tell me what you want,” Elias whispers to him after breaking their kiss, staring into his eyes. Jon looks away, though, face flushed and body shaking even more frantically now, clearly overwhelmed.</p><p>“Come on, tell me. Tell me what you want, Jonathan. Don’t get shy on me now. Tell me about all those disgusting things you want me to do to you.” Elias is beginning to grow impatient. He needs Jon to give him something, to demonstrate how much he wants this like Elias Knows he wants it. Elias’ fingers slide out of him, and Jon gives a tiny, pathetic whine at the loss.</p><p>“You, you, you already know,” Jon stammers, biting at his swollen lips, looking pretty and perfect and already too far gone. He’s messy and disheveled, but invitingly so, naked and marked by Elias himself as well as all those dread powers that Elias arranged to mark him. He’s entirely a product of Elias’ will. It’s been so easy to impose it on him. He begins touching the marks gently, rubbing soothing hands down Jon’s sides, massaging at his skin.</p><p>“Oh, of course I do Jon, but I want to hear it from you. I want you to vocalize those dirty thoughts you have about me. Tell me yourself, come on now.” As impatient as Elias is, he can’t resist the opportunity to humiliate Jon further, to see just how much he’ll let Elias control him. He keeps his hands on Jon the entire while, pokes and prods at him, taps on the marks that Jon has etched into his skin.</p><p>“Just, just fuck me,” Jon tells him desperately, spitting out the words rather bitterly, as if he can’t believe it’s something he actually wants. His lip is extended in an unprofessional pout, face entirely flushed as he looks anywhere but at Elias.</p><p>“Fuck you? How?” Elias poses the words as an innocent inquiry as he continues his inspection of Jon’s skin, fingers burrowing into the flesh as he marvels at the wonder that is entirely his, his archivist, his archive. Jon is his creation, after all.</p><p>“Right, right here, right now, just, just, please.” Jon’s words dissolve into pathetic mewls as Elias pinches a nipple particularly hard, but he soon sets about soothing it as his hands glide across Jon’s chest in gentle strokes.</p><p>“On my desk? You want me to fuck you on my desk?” Elias asks leisurely as he continues petting at Jon’s skin.</p><p>“Yes, please.” Jon’s voice is quiet, hushed as he savours the attention from Elias. After all, when was the last time he was touched like this?</p><p>“You’re such an unrepentant slut, Jon. so desperate for me, wanting me in my office, on my desk. You’re so damned disgusting, it’s unbelievable.” Elias is thoroughly enjoying teasing him now as his fingernails rake across Jon’s skin. Jon shivers at the sensation. </p><p>“Please, please. Just do it.” Jon is truly desperate for him now, squirming beneath his hands.</p><p>Elias wrinkles his nose at this, and begins slowly shaking his head. </p><p>“Truly disgusting, Jonathan,” Elias chastises him. “You’re just so gross.”</p><p>“I….” Jon starts to speak, but Elias gives an annoyed huff, not liking what he sees. Jon’s eyes are so impossibly wide, but they are firmly glued to the floor.  That behaviour is unacceptable. He has to correct it. Elias slides a hand under Jon’s chin to tilt his head up. </p><p>“Look at me when I’m talking to you. What is it that you want?”</p><p>“Fuck me, please. I want you to fuck my ass.” The desperation in Jon’s voice is truly music to Elias’ ears, coupled with his eyes staring into Elias’. The eye contact is exhilarating. Elias would probably do anything Jon asked, as long as he asks it while looking at him with those exquisite eyes of his.</p><p>“Now that’s what I want to hear,” Elias purrs at him before backing away, putting his hands on his hips as he admires Jon. “Present yourself for me, then. Come on. Be quick about it.”</p><p>Jon’s movements are shaky, but also quite hasty as he spreads himself invitingly for Elias. Splayed out on Elias’ desk, his body starts to quiver from the strain of his position he finds himself in. His hair is a messy, shaggy halo around his head, but it’s his eyes that Elias cannot bear to look away from. Enticing pools of the darkest green Elias has ever seen, an absolutely insatiable want contained within them. Elias can hardly pull out his cock fast enough before getting his hands on Jon and sinking into him. He’s irresistible, his archivist.</p><p>Jon feels amazing. He’s incredibly tight, feeling heavenly around Elias’ cock, and Elias has no qualms about fucking Jon exactly how he likes, rough and harsh as he snaps his hips into him. All the while he’s keeping Jon restrained, one of his hands busy pinning Jon's wrists down while the other holds his archivist in place so his body remains steady atop Elias’ desk despite the roughness of his movements.</p><p>His hand is wrapped tight around Jon, clamped like a vice to hold him down by his hip. Jon is squirming desperately beneath him, struggling all the while but, oh, Elias Knows he’s enjoying it. He likes the pain, the lack of preparation, even the spontaneity of it. It’s what he’s always wanted, Elias dragging him into his office and fucking the everliving daylights out of him. He had imagined it vividly while on the job, bored and in the break room and Elias had been in his office and he had Known.</p><p>The sight of Jon, sprawled out like this, is too much for him. He pulls out of Jon and can barely contain himself when he beholds the picturesque view of his archivist laid out for him on his desk. He doesn’t even need to stroke himself to completion, but finds himself coming all over Jon’s body, splayed out all for him, marked for him by the dread powers and marked by him with the work of his own hands. Jon is so vivid, pretty as a painting, scars old and new providing a backdrop to the whiteness of Elias’ own come. The red marks are the most noticeable, wrought by Elias himself, indentations of fingernails and eager hands that groped at his skin too hard, bitemarks and hickeys, lurid markings of ownership, evident along his shoulders and neck. Elias’ ownership over his archivist is so incredibly pronounced now. He’s anointed with Elias’ come, marked thoroughly by Elias’ hands and mouth. He belongs to Elias.</p><p>Jon looks wrecked and desperate, breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly as his hands clench on nothing. Elias, of course, is already busy fixing his rumpled suit, smoothing out his lapels and doing up the buttons to cover up the wet mark that Jon left on his neat dress shirt. He is the head of the institute, after all; he’s failing if he doesn’t at least try to look the part.</p><p>“I take it you’ll be indisposed for quite a while?” </p><p>Jon only lets out a soft groan in response. Elias really did wear him out. Nothing more to do here, then.</p><p>Elias makes to leave. To his surprise, Jon’s hand shoots out and grabs his sleeve. Elias does not expect the sudden rush of affection that overtakes him at the childish action. He should find it weak and pathetic, off putting. The implication of it, the words that Elias sees forming slowly in Jon’s mind, if not on his lips: <i>Please. Stay with me.</i> That’s what it means, the way Jon’s fingers weakly grasp at his sleeve, shaking like a leaf, struggling to maintain a hold on Elias.</p><p>Elias wants to shrug him off, wants to leave Jon alone in his office, wrecked and regretting his decision to dare attempt to defy Elias. It would be a suitable punishment, after all, it was incredibly rude to come storming into Elias’ office like he owned the place. He wants to, and everything in him is instructing him to leave, to remain the cold and calculated head of the institute. He didn’t get to the top by being soft on his employees, after all.</p><p>But Jon is naked and vulnerable and looking completely wrecked. His eyes are wide and misty and he is shaking. He’s Elias’ property, and right now he desperately needs Elias to stay.</p><p>So Elias pauses and wraps his hand around Jon’s where it clenches at the fabric of his suit, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He’ll indulge him, just this once, will respond to the unspoken question.</p><p>“Of course, my dear archivist. I’ll take care of you. I always have, haven’t I?”</p>
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